His First Promise
by jankmusic
Summary: Sherlock Holmes wasn't making a new vow; instead, he was making his first promise that he fully intended to keep: keep Molly Hooper safe at whatever cost. [Spoilers for Season Three & Companion Piece to Her Final Goodbye]
1. Chapter 1

His First Promise

Summary: Sherlock Holmes wasn't making a new vow; instead, he was making his first promise that he fully intended to keep: keep Molly Hooper safe at whatever cost. [Spoilers for Season Three & Companion Piece to Her Final Goodbye]

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was irritated.

"Why does England need me now? I've committed treason; I hardly think the Queen wants me anywhere on this bloody island." He stood up from his seat as the plane landed and waited impatiently as the sole stewardess opened the door.

He climbed down the stairs, his eyes on John, Mary, and Mycroft, who were all standing together near his car. He sped up his pace as he saw the look of concern on John's face, running the short distance until he stood beside his friend.

"What is it?" he snapped, when no one said anything.

"I can't believe it," John mumbled, and his brow furrowed in confusion. Sherlock looked from John to Mary, and finally at Mycroft.

"What can't you believe?" Sherlock asked, looking back at John.

"He's back."

"Who?"

"James Moriarty."

For a moment, Sherlock thought they were playing some kind of trick on him. He looked amongst the three people who he was surrounded by, fighting down laughter. When no one smirked or giggled, he shook his head. "No he's not. I watched him shoot himself in the head."

"It looks like the man was cleverer than you thought." Mycroft held out his phone and Sherlock took it without a word, watching the small image of James Moriarty with _"Did you miss me?"_ playing demonically in the background. He only stared at it a moment, his mind failing to process what he was seeing.

And then a cold shiver ran down his spine. "Molly…" he breathed. He had only said his goodbyes a few hours beforehand, but he desperately needed to reassure himself that she was alright.

"What?" Mary asked. She watched as John's eyes narrowed in confusion, and then widened in sudden understanding and horror. Mary didn't understand why they were afraid.

"Where is Molly Hooper?" Sherlock looked at his brother, knowing that he would have kept tabs on her, especially in her emotional state that she left in earlier that morning.

Mycroft took his phone back. "She should be at home," he said, scrolling through his phone, searching through his contacts. Sherlock had an inkling that Mycroft was going to call the men who were assigned to his pathologist that day. "I will raise her security accordingly."

Sherlock nodded his head once in agreement towards Mycroft. "Come on, we have to go!" He pivoted and ran towards Mary's car. "She could already be in danger!"

He got there first and tore open the driver's side door, pushing the seat back as far as it could go. After a moment, John appeared and Mary was a bit behind him, breathless. She hesitated outside the car for a moment before climbing into the backseat, where it was safer for her in her pregnant state; if Sherlock was driving, she was assuming he was going to drive like a maniac.

Sherlock snatched the keys from Mary and shoved them in the ignition.

And then he was speeding off the runway.

"Why are we in a rush?" Mary asked, hurriedly putting on her seatbelt. "Not that Molly's safety isn't important—but why is she in jeopardy?"

"Moriarty dated her so he could get closer to Sherlock," John said, turning around in his seat to look at his wife. "She broke it off with him and then helped Sherlock fake his death. If Moriarty has any idea that Molly was involved, she is in grave danger."

"If it's even Moriarty," Sherlock grumbled. "Anyone can manipulate an image, and that voice was hardly human. But yes, John is right. Molly Hooper is in very grave danger."

* * *

Molly Hooper stood frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the computer screen in the lab.

_"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"_

Her blood ran cold and she felt her legs begin to tremble. She stumbled backwards and latched onto the lab bench behind her.

_"Did you miss me?"_

"Oh God!" she groaned, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the taunting sound of James Moriarty. She took several deep breaths and pulled herself together. Just because her New Year started off on the wrong foot with saying goodbye to Sherlock didn't mean it had to keep plummeting.

She jumped and whimpered when she felt a vibration in her pocket and she reached for her phone with trembling hands. She couldn't help but imagine Moriarty calling her even though she changed her phone number right after she found out that he was a criminal mastermind. She clutched it tightly in her hand for a moment, before looking at the caller ID. A wave of relief flooded her at the sight of Greg Lestrade's name on the screen. Then she answered his call. "H-Hello?"

"Where. Are. You?" he growled out. "You're supposed to be in your flat."

"W-work," she stuttered. She cleared her throat, which suddenly seemed too dry, and a piece of her was curious as to why Lestrade knew where she was and wasn't supposed to be. "I'm in the lab, covering a shift for Mike."

"I'll be there in two minutes. Do not leave the lab."

"O-okay."

Molly hung up and slid her phone into her pocket. Then she shakily began cleaning up the sample she had been working on. By the time Lestrade burst into the lab, her hands were a bit steadier and she was feeling better.

Molly looked at Lestrade, and she couldn't help but shudder at the look of anger flashing in his eyes. He wasn't dressed in his usual suit and tie, which meant he was off duty, but his gun was displayed prominently on his hip and he looked altogether a bit too dangerous.

"You're going in my protective custody. Don't worry about work, it's being taken care of." He paused for a second to look around the lab. Then he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and said, "I'm taking you home and you need to pack a bag and get your cat, and then you're going somewhere safe for the time being."

Molly nodded her head, not arguing. She led the way out of the lab and towards the ladies locker room, aware of the protective hand Lestrade had on the small of her back and the tension he was holding in his upper body.

"Am I in danger?" she whispered, after getting her purse and exchanging her lab coat for her heavier winter coat.

"I think so."

"And where are we going?" Molly asked. Lestrade didn't answer until they were safely out of St. Bart's and in his car.

"Baker Street."

Molly didn't have it in her to protest; she wasn't sure if she could physically stand being in the same space as Sherlock's belongings, with the knowledge that the man she was in love with was on a suicide mission in Eastern Europe.

* * *

Lestrade didn't say a word as he led the way to Molly's flat, her keys tightly in his fist. He unlocked her door and opened it, doing a cursory sweep of the flat. Confident that no one was there, he opened the door wider and allowed Molly to step through.

A few steps into the flat, Molly knew something was wrong. Toby _ALWAYS_ met her at the door, crying and purring for attention and food.

Her cat was nowhere in sight.

Molly hesitated in the hallway, scared to move further into the flat. "What's wrong?" Lestrade asked.

Molly didn't say anything, just moving silently through her small flat. She saw that her bedroom door was shut, and she felt a bit of the tension release from her body. "I must have locked Toby in my room this morning."

Lestrade paused near her sofa, one hand resting on his gun. "Go ahead and pack a bag. Clothes, toiletries, anything you might need for a few days. Mycroft Holmes said you'll have access to everything in the flat, so don't worry about food."

"Right," Molly murmured. She walked down the hallway that led from her sitting room to the bedrooms and bathroom. She opened the door to her bedroom and flicked on her light.

Then she screamed in horror at the sight in front of her.

* * *

"Oh, my God."

"What?" Sherlock snapped.

"Go to Baker Street. Right now. Jesus!" They were on their way to Molly's flat, under the impression that she was still there. Sherlock deduced that because of the emotional state she was in earlier, she would either be sleeping in her bed, or cocooned in her duvet on the sofa.

"What is it, John?" Mary asked from the backseat.

Sherlock watched as John fumbled with his phone, and then he held the device up. Sherlock glanced at the photograph and felt his heart stop.

The all too familiar "Get Sherlock" with the crude smiley face in the 'o' was painted on a wall in red. He recognized the wardrobe beside the writing as Molly's. "Tell me that's paint," he said, surprised when his voice cracked. In his mind, he imagined Molly Hooper's lifeless body on her bed, and the idea made him sick. He cleared his throat and glanced at John from the corner of his eye before staring straight ahead at the road, trying to calculate the fastest route to Molly's flat. If she was hurt or dead, he was going to kill whoever did this to her.

"No. It's blood from Molly's cat. Lestrade has taken her to Baker Street per Mycroft's request. We need to go there."

* * *

Sherlock slammed on the brakes and hardly had the car off before he was jumping out of the vehicle. He saw Lestrade's car parked in front of his flat and he wasted no time in slamming the front door of 221B open and climbing the stairs two at a time.

He ran into his sitting room, not taking in anything other than Molly Hooper, who was curled up in his seat. She was staring unblinkingly forward, and Sherlock dropped down to his knees in front of her. For a moment there was thick silence, and then she blinked once before looking at him. He leaned forward, invading her space, blocking out everything behind him. "They set you free because someone murdered my cat?" she asked weakly, slowly reaching out and cupping his cheek.

"Don't be obtuse, Molly," he growled, resting his hand over the one on his face. "I'm free because there is a threat to England, and I'm _here_ because someone hurt you."

"I'm fine, really." She tried to pull away, but Sherlock refused to let her go.

"You loved Toby. I understand what it's like to lose a beloved pet." He took a deep breath and then added, "I'm sorry." He saw the tears well up in her eyes, but none fell. Even though she was hurting, she was trying so hard to be strong. "You're staying here until the threat is taken care of, understand?" he asked. Molly nodded her head and didn't dispute his statement. Sherlock had a feeling that his pathologist didn't want to return to her flat in its current state. "For now, you can sleep in my bed."

"Just like old times?" she asked. Sherlock could tell that she was thinking of all the times he had commandeered her bedroom while using her flat as a bolt-hole. The small quirk of her lips sent a flood of relief through him. He nodded his head and cradled her face in his hands. Then he leaned forward and captured her mouth in a gentle kiss. The resounding gasps that echoed around him didn't go unnoticed but he was more focused on Molly and what she needed. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, but held still when Molly pressed her face against his shoulder.

"I thought I was never going to see you again," she whispered, clutching his coat.

"I believe that idea can be deleted now. I'm certain I'm here to stay."

"Okay," Molly whispered, tightening her hold on him. "Okay." She took a shuddering breath and tried to pull away from Sherlock's embrace, but he held steadfast.

"You're in a bit of shock."

"I could be."

"What do you need?"

Molly hesitated for a moment, and then she shook her head. "I don't know." The sound of uncertainty was like a punch to his gut, the fear evident in her voice. At points of stress, Molly Hooper always held her sanity and kept him grounded; he had to do his best to be her anchor. "I don't know what's happening or if I'm in danger and I don't want him to be back, Sherlock." Her voice raised in pitch as she finished her statement, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip. "I really don't want him to be back."

"Nothing will happen to you," Sherlock said, finally releasing his tight hold on her. He shifted a bit on his knees to relieve the pressure and eyed Molly seriously. He then grasped Molly's hands in his own. "I promise."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

His First Promise

Summary: Sherlock Holmes wasn't making a new vow; instead, he was making his first promise that he fully intended to keep: keep Molly Hooper safe at whatever cost. [Spoilers for Season Three & Companion Piece to Her Final Goodbye]

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

"Where are you going?"

Sherlock turned slowly to look at the people standing behind him. John, Mary, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all looked bewildered.

"I'm going to Molly's flat."

"Not alone!" John barked, taking a step forward. "And you have some explaining to do. What was that? Kissing Molly? Sherlock, she's in shock! You can't go around and—and—"

"What occurs between Molly and I is none of your concern," Sherlock snapped. That was exactly the wrong thing to say to John Watson, and he deflated a bit. After a moment of tense silence, Sherlock strode back into the living room and dropped into the chair. "Yesterday, I said goodbye to Molly. I was under the impression that I was never going to see her again, so I made it clear that her feelings for me were returned."

"What?"

"I told her that I loved her," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "I can't say it any simpler."

He was met with silence, and he looked up to see John and Mrs. Hudson looking bewildered, Mary chewing her lip worriedly, and Lestrade glaring at him. Of all the reactions, anger from the Detective Inspector was not what he was expecting.

"You better not be pulling her along like you did that Janine woman. Molly cares for you so deeply, and you saying that just to appease her—"

"Believe me, _Greg_," Sherlock said, a hint of a growl in his voice, "My feelings for Molly Hooper are infinitely more genuine than what I felt for Janine. It was a case with her, but Molly Hooper isn't a case; she is the one who matters the most."

Sherlock and Lestrade locked gazes for several long moments before they were interrupted by a sniffle.

"Sorry, sorry," Mary said, wiping at her eyes. "Hormones, you know."

John wrapped his arms comfortingly around Mary, giving her a squeeze. "Right. So what about Molly?"

"She's resting now," Sherlock said, waving a hand towards his bedroom. "She didn't pack a bag, so I feel that I should retrieve a few of her belongings before she wakes."

"Alright, I'm coming with you," Lestrade said firmly.

"Fine."

"Me too!" John declared.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then eyed Mary. "Are you coming too?"

"No thank you. I'll stay here. Check for cameras and help Mrs. Hudson with lunch."

"Thank you dear," Mrs. Hudson said, patting Mary on the shoulder. "I'll be downstairs. Should I be expecting more guests, Sherlock?"

"Just Mycroft, and he's hardly considered a guest." Sherlock stood up and smoothed his hands down his coat. "Are we all sorted now? Great. Let's go."

* * *

"You're not just getting her a bag, are you?" John whispered, peering up and down the hallway as Sherlock picked the lock on her front door. She had neighbors next door and across the hall, and he didn't want them to call the police.

"Correct." He opened the door and stepped in, followed by John and then Lestrade. "Did you see anything suspicious when you first arrived?" Sherlock asked, pausing just past the doorway.

"No. And I did a cursory sweep of the flat before I let her in. She went straight to her bedroom and found her cat. We left immediately after."

"Right." Sherlock pointed to a cupboard to his left. "John, she keeps her luggage in that cupboard. Grab a suitcase and get whatever she might need from her bathroom. Make sure you grab some of her supplies from beneath the sink; she'll need them in two days."

With that, Sherlock strode straight to Molly's bedroom. The bedroom door was closed firmly, and he took a deep breath before opening it; he got along well with Toby and never wished harm to come towards the cat.

He turned on the light and stared at the vandalized wall. For the moment he ignored the body of her cat, instead studying the wall intently.

It took him hardly three seconds to determine that the writing on the wall was not written by Moriarty; it was easy to fake handwriting, but there were some tells in this replica. For one, the "S" had more of slant than what Moriarty typically wrote, and the most obvious was the unnecessary loop in the "R".

Someone was trying to frighten her, but they were failing.

And even worse, they targeted someone who didn't deserve it. Sherlock was determined to find whoever this Moriarty imitator was and teach them several valuable lessons about messing with things that weren't theirs.

After sorting his newly acquired knowledge about the perpetrator (_early thirties, male, right handed, minor in art, recent breakup_), he turned his attention to Toby on Molly's bed. He removed his leather gloves and then put on a pair of rubber gloves that he frequently kept in his pockets.

He approached slowly and knelt down, reaching beneath the bed. He knew Molly purchased a new pair of boots and the shoebox was beneath her bed. It should have been big enough to fit the deceased cat.

He emptied the boots onto the floor and then placed the box on the bed. He carefully picked up the cat and paused for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sniffing the cat. Then he placed him in the box. He picked up the small throw blanket at the foot of her bed and folded it before covering Toby; that blanket had been Toby's favorite.

"Sherlock? Did you find anything?"

Sherlock placed the lid on the box and then stood up. He ripped off the rubber gloves and dropped them carelessly on the floor before stepping out of the room and meeting with Lestrade and John. John had one small bag filled with her toiletries and an empty duffle on his shoulder.

"It wasn't Moriarty," Sherlock said.

"What the hell is happening?" Lestrade stepped out of her kitchen, his hands on his hips.

"It seems Molly is the victim of an elaborate plan." He whipped out his mobile and began texting Mycroft. "And I have a feeling a bit of it has something to do with her recent…broken engagement. Mycroft will have to check the CCTV cameras but I'm certain _Tom_," he said with disdain, "will be incarcerated before the end of the day."

"T-Tom?" John spluttered. "He could hardly hurt a fly, let alone a cat…"

"The cat was already dead." Sherlock took a moment to glance back to Molly's bedroom. "It's easy to conclude that someone paid him to commit this vandalism, and they supplied him with poison to kill Toby before using him as…paint."

"How did you manage to come to that conclusion?"

"Easy. The handwriting, albeit similar to Moriarty's, is not the same. I've seen Tom's handwriting on cards in Molly's office and the "S" and "R" are identical. You can have a forensic graphologist compare the writing, but I believe my opinion is good enough. With Tom's minor in art, he was more than capable of mimicking the handwriting."

"Right," Lestrade said with a sigh. "Should I call the police then?"

"No. I've already disturbed the crime scene. Mycroft will take care of it."

Sherlock went to John and plucked the duffle bag from his shoulder. "I'll pack her clothing. Just because the vandal has been identified doesn't mean Molly is in any less danger."

With that, Sherlock strode back to Molly's bedroom, eager to get out of the flat and return to his pathologist.

When Sherlock, John, and Lestrade returned to Baker Street, Sherlock made a detour to the small garden behind the flat while the other two carried the bags and went upstairs. Using a shovel Mrs. Hudson kept in a small cupboard near her door, he dug an adequate sized hole for the box. He buried Toby and placed a small potted plant near his grave as a makeshift tombstone.

He washed his hands in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen before making his way upstairs.

Lestrade was sitting on the sofa, a plate with a sandwich and crisps balanced on his knee. His eyes swept around the room and he saw John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson huddled together in the kitchen. He went to them and leaned against the door jam.

"You just missed Mycroft," Mary commented, turning from John and Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock. "I found four cameras altogether in the flat, but Mycroft said they were all his after your…drug den incident. He dismantled all of them but the one by the front door."

"Is he trying to see who comes in and out?"

"Yes. And I didn't go into your bedroom because Molly."

"Is she still sleeping?" Sherlock looked down the hallway towards his bedroom. Right after his surprising return to the flat and his promise to Molly, he helped her to his bedroom and told her to rest.

"Yes. I think she fell asleep the second her head hit the pillow." Mary turned back towards John, and he offered her a plate. She kissed him on the cheek and then made her way to the living room.

John eyed Sherlock warily for a moment, and then he leaned against the counter. "Tom has been arrested."

"I expected that much. It's disappointing Mycroft didn't stay until we returned."

John chuckled lightly and smoothed a hand over his face before rubbing his eyes. Sherlock hesitated a moment before pushing himself away from the door walking to John. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "I won't let anything happen to Mary."

John exhaled noisily through his nose and looked at Sherlock with narrowed eyes. "And you're going to keep Molly safe, and Lestrade, and me, and Mrs. Hudson? Who's going to look after you? I feel as if that's the whole plan; keep you occupied with keeping everyone safe and then Moriarty or whoever it is will strike when you're most vulnerable."

"I won't be vulnerable." Sherlock said, dropping his hand.

John snorted. "Love changes things."

Sherlock stiffened and took a step away. "Are you suggesting I should cut my emotional ties to Molly Hooper, because I firmly disagree." He was about to turn away when John reached for his sleeve, tugging him back.

"Of course I'm not saying that, you git. You just need to be prepared for her to be a target now, which you obviously are aware of, what am I saying?" He dropped Sherlock's sleeve and once again rubbed his tired eyes.

"You should go home." John looked at Sherlock incredulously, but before he could say anything, Sherlock said, "We can't do anything right now. There are too many pieces of the puzzle missing. Once Mycroft interrogates Tom we might have more information. Do you and Mary want to stay here?"

"No," John said, shaking his head for emphasis. "Mary is hardly getting any sleep as is and our bed is huge. If we go back to the bed upstairs, she'll get maybe a few minutes of sleep."

"Right." Sherlock turned to look at Mary. She was leaning back on the sofa, using her protruding belly as a makeshift table. "Well, regardless, Mycroft has assigned men to you and Lestrade, so you'll be safe." He turned back to John and he nodded his head.

"I'm not too worried about us. I'm more concerned about Molly, to be honest."

"I am too."

"But everything will be fine. Now let's eat lunch, and we'll brainstorm over the information you gathered today."

* * *

Sherlock sat down on the steps leading out to Mrs. Hudson's garden, keeping a sharp eye on Molly. It was dark outside, but Molly insisted on saying her goodbyes to Toby properly before turning in for the night. He watched as she knelt down by his grave and he tried not to react to the sounds of her crying softly.

Getting distracted by her emotional turmoil would ruin his concentration on keeping her safe.

He stayed out there for some time, not commenting as time slipped by; he knew what it was like to say goodbye to a pet.

Eventually, Molly stood up and dusted off her knees. She made her way back to Sherlock and sat down beside him in the doorway.

"Thank you for taking care of him," she whispered.

"He deserved at least that," Sherlock said, gently reaching over and taking her hand in his. "I am sorry."

"I know." Molly leaned her head on his shoulder and Sherlock found himself fighting the urge to kiss her forehead. _Not outside where people can see. _He gave her hand a squeeze instead and said,

"Are you tired?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go, then."

The two made their way back inside, Sherlock locking the door firmly. Mrs. Hudson had long since retired to bed, and Sherlock took a moment to make sure all of her windows were locked before following Molly upstairs to his flat.

As Molly was in the shower, Sherlock carefully went through his wardrobe, clearing out two drawers for Molly before moving to his closet and taking down a few of his less worn suits. Satisfied that there was enough room for her in his bedroom for the belongings she had there, he carried her bags from the living room and placed them on the floor near his bed. That could be taken care of later in the morning.

He quickly changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed. He didn't have to wait long for Molly to edge into his bedroom, placing her clothes that she was wearing before near her bag. She shyly peered at Sherlock, and he couldn't help the warmth that spread through his body. He pulled back his blanket and said, "Please."

Molly made her way to his bed and he smiled as she slipped beneath the blankets and rolled to her side, looking at him.

"This is different from our bolt-hole bed sharing."

"How so?" Sherlock asked, turning onto his side.

"You love me now."

"I loved you then," he said, brow furrowing. The wide smile that took over her features could have brightened the room.

This time, Sherlock couldn't help himself and he kissed her gently. When he pulled away, Molly stretched over and pressed a kiss to his cheek before settling into bed and closing her eyes.

Sherlock spent most of the night listening to her breathe.

* * *

A/N: It was an uphill battle with this chapter! But the next one is well underway, as is my outline! Thank you for reading, as always!

-Janet


End file.
